


The Night (Trip) Before Christmas

by LaughingSenselessly



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellarke, Bellarke Christmas Calendar 2016, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Playing in the Snow, Post-Canon, Slow Dancing, featuring:, the glowing forest, this is kinda all over the place pray 4 my sanity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-02 15:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8673415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughingSenselessly/pseuds/LaughingSenselessly
Summary: As natural as if they’ve done this a thousand times before, Bellamy's hand slides to her waist, light and respectful and perfectly formal.The problem is, of course, that Clarke doesn’t want respectful. She wants his hands all over her, pushing her against the wall and—“I think you’re supposed to sway,” Bellamy says dryly.-It's Christmas Eve on Earth.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Bellarke.com’s Christmas Advent Calendar,](http://bellarke.com/tagged/bellarkechristmas2016) Day 10. Filling two prompts: 1) Bellarke playing in the snow, + 2) slow dancing, as well as fulfilling my own fantasy of seeing bellarke in the glowing forest. Who said I couldn’t be a cheesy piece of shit? 
> 
> Happy holidays, ya animals.

It’s Christmas Eve, and Clarke Griffin is smiling.

Neither of those things happens every day. And it’s been a long time since they happened together. The last time, she thinks, was probably back on the Ark. When she was young and her family was whole and relatively happy, and they had a mini, fake Christmas tree that sat on the coffee table at this time of year. Once they got to the ground, celebrating the holidays became the last thing on her mind.

But tonight it’s Christmas Eve again. And for the first time in forever, it’s peacetime on Earth. And her lips pull upwards of their own accord as she watches a slightly drunken Harper and Miller shake their asses on the dance floor, completely ignoring the mood of the loving tune being crooned by the piano player. The song carries softly over Clarke’s head where she leans against the bar. The middle of the dining hall has become a makeshift dance floor, with the wooden chairs and tables pushed to the sides. Asides from her lovable delinquent friends, people are dancing slowly, clinging to each other and swaying on the spot.

She’s drinking in the sight of her people indulging in a joyous night, and eventually her eyes settle on Bellamy. He’s leaning against a wall on the opposite side of the room. She watches him for another moment; he doesn’t look sad or anything, but he looks thoughtful, arms crossed and body still a little tense as if he’s ready for anything. It’s hard for both of them to relax, she muses.

She nearly jumps out of her skin when her mother’s voice sounds beside her. “Beautiful thing to see, isn’t it?”

For a moment Clarke stupidly thinks Abby’s talking about Bellamy, but when she turns to look at her mom, Abby’s gazing over the crowd of people. Her face is flushed— she’s been drinking, letting loose a little like the rest of them for one night.

“Our people, happy?” Clarke says eventually. “Yeah, it is.”

“It used to be like this on the Ark,” Abby beams. “You remember that, don’t you?” She doesn’t wait for an answer, and gestures out. “But it wasn’t quite this good. We didn’t have the food, or the atmosphere up there. Or the snow.” She laughs softly and then sighs. “Christmas is better on Earth.”

 _Was it worth the sacrifices, though_? Clarke bites her tongue before she makes that comment. It’s rare to see her mom in this kind of mood and she’ll be damned if she’s the one to take her out of it. “Shouldn’t you be dancing with Kane?” she says abruptly instead.

“You saw that, did you?” her mom says, amused. Clarke shrugs.

“I’m happy for you guys.”

“I know,” Abby replies softly. “What about you, though?”

Clarke’s eyes snap to her mom. “What about me?”

“Don’t you want to dance?”

“Not really.” She’s content to just watch.

“You loved dancing on the Ark,” Abby remarks.

Clarke rolls her eyes as her cheeks heat up. Just because her mom took one video of her dancing in her underwear as a toddler and blew it out of proportion to house guests back on the Ark doesn’t mean anything.

“It’ll be good for you,” Abby says, and then her gaze shifts somewhere else. Her tone turns decisive, brisk. “Dance with Bellamy.”

If possible, Clarke’s cheeks heat up more. “Dance with—”

“He looks just as lonely as you,” her mom persists, and then becomes softer. “Is it so wrong that I want to see you act like a normal teenager now and then?”

Clarke doesn’t answer. She hasn’t been a teenager in a long time.

Abby sighs and squeezes Clarke’s shoulder. “Just go dance one song with one of your friends. You might just enjoy it— heaven forbid.” And with those wry words, her mom slips away, back into the crowd to mingle.

Clarke knows her mom isn’t necessarily trying to push Bellamy on her in a romantic way. It’s not _her_ fault that Clarke can’t stop thinking of it that way.

Clarke is fully aware she’s got some kind of romantic feelings for him, and she thinks he’s got some for her, despite the fact that every time she tries to drop a hint on him he acts completely oblivious. Maybe their relationship has been so well-defined and comfortably established for so long she doesn’t know how to begin trying to redefine it.

She lifts her eyes from her feet to across the room only to find that he’s already watching her. She wonders how long he’s been looking.

There’s something warm in his expression that makes her pushes off the bar, making her way through the throng of bodies to reach him. He watches her as she approaches, expression not changing. When she gets to him, she nods in greeting and he barely visibly reacts, but she knows him well enough to recognize the relaxing in his posture is because of her presence. She leans on the wall beside him.

“What was your mom talking about over there?” Bellamy asks. “You looked uncomfortable.”

She quirks up an eyebrow, hoping she looks casual. “She told me that I should dance with you.”

There’s a pause before he replies, tone indiscernible. “That right?”

“Well, she practically ordered me, but yeah.”

He cracks a grin. “That sounds more like her. Did you shoot her down easy?”

She rubs her arms and hesitatingly says, “Actually, I... didn’t shoot her down.”

An uncomfortable silence falls, where Bellamy’s lips part and he just stares at her.

It’s happening more and more often between her and Bellamy lately— this _awkwardness_. She despises it. Her relationship with him has always been so comfortable; he’s the person she goes to when she just wants to exist without being judged, when she wants to be touched without expectation, when she wants to laugh without feeling guilty. And now it’s _not_ so comfortable, and she’s fed up.

So she clears her throat. “Do you _want_ to dance?” she asks him abruptly, and then, because she doubts herself, she adds, “It’ll make my mom happy, at least.”

He relaxes marginally. “It’s not a pretty sight when your mom is mad,” he agrees.

“Exactly. All Arkadians will thank us.” She offers out her hand, trying for all the world to act blase about it, as if this is nothing. Like her heart isn’t thumping away almost painfully loud in her chest.

Equally casual, he takes her hand, warmth enveloping her skin as their palms fit and press together. “I have to talk to you about something anyway,” he says.

Right. Of course. Business. “What could you possibly want to talk about?” she asks him, as they take the few steps onto the dance floor. As natural as if they’ve done this a thousand times before, his hand slides to her waist, light and respectful and perfectly formal.

The problem is, of course, that she doesn’t _want_ respectful. She wants his hands all over her, pushing her against the wall and—

“I think you’re supposed to sway,” Bellamy says dryly.

She blinks, realizing she hasn’t moved, and he’s looking at her expectantly. “Oh. Right.” She purses her lips, hoping it isn’t too terribly obvious she was just fantasizing about him. Clearing her throat, she steps a little closer and winds an arm around his broad shoulders. He picks up her hand and interlaces their fingers.

The song has changed while they were talking, into something slow and romantic. Clarke wills herself not to blush. This is nothing. But he doesn’t seem bothered. He holds her like he’s always held her, tight and close to him, although he gazes over her shoulder at something else. She’s glad of it. It would be too intense for her if he looked at her like he was holding her like this.

Just as that thought crosses her mind, his eyes flicker down and their gazes collide. It’s like he just notices how close they are, how their chests nearly brush as they move, and she watches his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

“So,” he says, his voice sounding slightly gruffer. “I was going to ask if you’ve seen Monty and Jasper.”

She tilts her head up. “No,” she says slowly. “Why?”

He shakes his head and looks over her shoulder again. “I haven’t seen them tonight either.”

“What, are you keeping tabs on everyone now?” she teases. “I’m sure they’re fine. Probably getting drunk somewhere else.” As they talk, they relax into each others’ arms. Clarke’s not sure he’s aware that his hand around her waist suddenly slides around to her back, pressing her close, and then up to brush against the tips of her hair. Her breath catches in her throat at the casual intimacy of it.

“Probably.”

She tugs at his collar. “Hey. Stop worrying.”

His gaze shifts back to hers. “Habits are hard to break.”

She sighs. As wonderful as their peacetime is and how their people revel in it, she and Bellamy are constantly thinking about how fragile it still is. “I know, Bellamy.” WIthout really thinking about it, her hand around his shoulders reaches up to thread into his hair. “But we have to try.”

His eyelids drop a little the second she starts touching his hair, like a cat, and he draws her closer. “How?”

She can see the individual freckles on his nose, and her heart is beating too fast. “Think about something else.”

His lips part, but before he can respond, another voice cuts in.

“ _There_ you are, Clarke— whoa.”

They both immediately lean away from each other, retreating back to respectful distance. Flustered, Clarke turns her head to the interruption and pushes away from Bellamy. His hands leave her waist. But the damage is done.

It’s Raven, with her eyebrows raised so high they’ve practically disappeared into her hairline as she looks between them. She still doesn’t speak, but there’s a dawning glee in her expression.

“You need something, Raven?” Bellamy asks, sounding vaguely irritated. “Or are you just butting into conversations for the hell of it now?”

Raven cocks an eyebrow up, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “Conversation? Is that what you call it?”

“Raven,” Clarke cuts her off, sharper than she intended. She doesn’t want to know what it looked like. Because the moment is now thoroughly over. They’re standing apart now, and she misses his arms around her already.

“Right,” Raven says, pulling herself back with what seems like great difficulty. “Come with me.” She beckons at Clarke with her hand.

“What’s this about?” Clarke glances back at Bellamy, who looks just as puzzled as her.

“You’ll see.” Raven starts to walk away, apparently assuming Clarke will follow. She turns her head to add, “Lover boy can come too.”

Bellamy sighs with exasperation. Clarke marches after Raven, determinedly not looking his way.

—

It quickly becomes clear, as they turn into a new corridor, Raven is leading them to Monty’s room. She flings the door open without ceremony and calls, “There, I got her for you, but _you_ have to explain what’s going on.”

Clarke peers inside. Monty’s sitting on a stool beside the bed, arms crossed. Jasper lies on the bed. Groaning.

Clarke instantly rushes to his side, feeling his forehead temperature with the back of his hand. He’s feverish. “What’s wrong with him?” She notes the bucket next to the bed— so he’s been throwing up, too. “Why haven’t you taken him to a medic?”

Monty holds up his hands in a placating gesture at her high pitched tone of concern. “Okay. So you know those nuts they found last month? The ones that made everyone throw up all day?”

“Yes,” Clarke says slowly, casting a glance between Jasper and Monty. “The side effects were cured with tea from that fern plant from the glowing forest.”

Monty winces at her new tone. “Yeah. We kind of need some of that tea.”

Clarke puts her hands on her hips, more irritated now than anything else. “Jasper _ate_ that stuff? I didn’t even know we had any more lying around!”

“Uh, there might have been a dare involved.”

Clarke opens her mouth again, furious, but Raven beats her to it.

“They didn’t think they were the ‘throw-up’ nuts, they thought they were the ‘hallucinate your ass off’ kind.”

That’s not a very good defense, but Clarke still feels her anger dissipate somewhat. She sighs, puts her hands on her hips and turns her head back, to where Bellamy is observing the scene from just inside the doorway. He nods at her.

She turns back. “I’ll get my mom—”

“No,” Jasper groans vehemently.

“Jasper said specifically to get you. Not your mom, or any other medic,” Monty explains apologetically.

“Why the hell not? She can help!”

“We just need the tea from the medical wing. And you’ve got keys to medical. Please, Clarke?” She purses her lips and he goes on. “Jasper doesn’t want to get anyone else involved. He thinks he’s enough of a burden on everyone already.”

Clarke feels herself softening at that. Apparently Bellamy does too.

“Jasper, you’ve never been a burden,” he rumbles from beside her. “But you all have _got_ to stop doing dumb shit like this.”

Clarke silently agrees. “I’m going to get it. Don’t go anywhere.”

Bellamy follows her to medical. As she heads to one of the cabinets inside the wing, she says to him, “You didn’t have to come with me.”

“Thought you might need help looking.”

“No, actually. I know exactly where Mom keeps this stuff. It’s right here—” She pulls a drawer open confidently. Pauses. It’s empty.

“Need help looking now?” he asks from behind her, like a little shit.

“Shut up.” She slams the drawer shut and stares at it, at a loss. “It should have been right here.”

“Maybe she moved it,” he suggests reasonably. In silent agreement, they start opening more drawers and cabinets, searching for it. They work in comfortable silence but it quickly becomes apparent it’s not there.

“Clarke,” Bellamy says after a minute from the other side of the room. She wheels around.

“You found it?”

He shakes his head and holds up a clipboard, looking grim. “No. But I found the inventory log.” She marches over and takes it from him. It’s a list of supplies, and the name of the plant they’re looking for is scrawled there, along with the note ‘needs restocking’.

“Well,” Bellamy says finally, “Maybe it’ll be a lesson for him tonight.”

She hears his regretful tone. The nuts aren’t lethal, but without the tea, they’ll leave the victim in a miserable state for a good twenty-four hour period.

Clarke bites her lip. She really doesn’t want Jasper to be bed-ridden during the first Christmas they are celebrating on earth, but what can they do?

As they walk slowly back to Monty’s quarters to deliver the bad news, It occurs to her— rash and stupid, but she stops in the middle of the hallway and says it anyway. “We can still get some.”

He turns and his eyes snap up to hers.

“The glowing forest,” she elaborates impatiently. “I know what the plant looks like. If we go right now…”

“Take the Rover,” he nods along. “Half hour there, half hour back.”

“No one will notice we’re gone.”

Bellamy snorts. “I sincerely doubt that, but.” He casts a look down the hall, where she knows Jasper is probably puking his guts out right now. “Poor kid should be able to enjoy this.”

She nods in agreement. They haven’t had anything to enjoy in a long time, and Jasper has been through a lot. He deserves Christmas, at least. They can chew him out when he’s well.

“Come on,” she says, grabbing his arm, and after telling a dubious looking Raven where they’re headed, they take off.

—

Bellamy pulls a few strings on his end, and Clarke pulls a few of hers, and fifteen minutes later they roll out of camp in the Rover, the guards on watch waving them past. Bellamy drives as always, alert and careful, and Clarke pretends not to watch his profile, as always. He’s tense at the wheel, a muscle in his jaw ticking away and she has to wonder what he’s thinking. She knows what _she’s_ thinking— that moment back in the dining hall, when they danced like they were a couple. His breath was hot on her neck, and she could have sworn from the look in his eyes that he wanted to kiss her. And Raven had clearly thought so.

Heated moments like that have happened before, but it’s never amounted to anything. Maybe she’s reading it wrong out of wishful thinking. Or maybe, well. She has other suspicions as to why he might be holding back.

“Can’t this thing go faster?” she asks him to distract herself from her thoughts, rubbing her arms vigorously. She’s wearing a coat, but it’s still cold. Bellamy gives her shivering form one glance and turns up the heat.

“Well sure, if you want to get real up close and personal with the airbags,” he retorts, his hands now back on the wheel in a death grip. “The ground is snowed up and icy. Go any faster, and we risk losing control.”

She huffs at his tone. “So go slow forever, is that your plan?” She’s not sure what she’s talking about anymore.

“We can’t afford to lose control,” he repeats. “It’s risky out here.”

“Some risks are worth taking.”

“Not if they get someone killed.”

“That’s what I used to think,” she tells him. “But I realized recently if you let your past control your actions _now_ , you’re just giving into fear. And if I remember correctly, you’re pretty strongly against that.”

He’s silent for a long while, and she realizes what she just said wouldn’t make any sense in the context of the Rover, and she’s not sure he picked up on her double meaning. Just when she sighs and leans her head against the rest behind her, fully intending to tell him never mind, he says quietly, “Maybe you’re right.” She turns her head back to him, but he’s staring straight ahead, looking thoughtful.

He makes no further comment until a few minutes later, when he presses the brake. “We’re here.”

They hop out— “Watch your step, it’s icy,” he tells her, and she rolls her eyes before focusing on the magnificent sight before them.

She’s been in this forest a few times before, but hardly ever at night. And that’s a shame.

Their boots crunch into freshly fallen snow as they take it in— the forest, all its foliage glowing softly around them, casting unearthly light over Bellamy’s face. It’s an incredible sight.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” she says to him, unable to keep the awe out of her voice as she turns on the spot, spreading her arms.

“Sure. Nukes can sure do some beautiful things to the environment.” His words are laden with sarcasm.

She sighs, dropping her arms. “Since when did you become the fun police?”

He huffs, quirking up an eyebrow. “Since when did you _resign_ from the fun police?”

She scans the ground with a practiced eye and spots the plant they’re looking for nestled in the snow by a nearby tree. “Since I decided to try to enjoy life, now that we’ve been at peace for months.” As she kneels next to the plant, she turns to look at him from where he’s watching, and there’s something like longing on his face before he wipes his expression clear. “It’s okay to do that, you know. To enjoy,” she tells him softly.

He swallows and looks away from her. “I’m not sure I—”

“Deserve that?” She smiles sadly at him. “I struggle with that question every day. But it’s better than struggling trying to find a reason to live.”

He sighs in response and she turns back to her task of picking as much of the plant as she can while he walks back to the Jeep, presumably to warm it up again.

When she’s stood up with as much of the plant as she could fit in her bag, he still hasn’t started the Rover yet. He’s standing by it, looking exasperated.

“What’s wrong?”

“It won’t start.” He shakes his head. “It’s out of power.”

That sinks in. “We should’ve checked the battery before we left,” she says, chewing her lip. They’re in trouble now.

Bellamy swears and runs a hand over his face. “What now? It’s pitch black out. We won’t be able to charge up until morning.”

That’s right— the Rover runs on solar energy.

But does it?

Her eyes stray back to the glowing nettles of a nearby tree illuminating the scene. “Will any kind of light work?” she asks slowly. The light, when concentrated from several bunches leaves, is too bright to look at without squinting.

He follows her eyes and her train of thought immediately. “Maybe.” He’s already unhooking the battery pack, bringing it towards the tree and hunching in front of the brightest concentration of leaves. Clarke looks over his shoulder and they hold their breath for the next minute, waiting.

The power display on the battery suddenly kicks up just a tiny bit and they both exhale.

“Smart,” Bellamy tells her. His admiration makes her feel warmer than any coat could. Together, they bring as many glowing branches over to the battery as they can crowd around it and then just end up watching the power display creep up steadily, and painfully slow.

“We need at least a quarter battery power to make it back,” he tells her, hands on his hips.

Clarke purses her lips. That’s going to take a while. Jasper will have to endure a little longer.

In the meantime, she drops into the snow, flat on her back.

“What the hell are you doing?”

She ignores his tone and starts moving her arms and legs. “We’ve got time to kill, so I’m making a snow angel. Haven’t you heard of it before?”

“You’re acting like you’ve never seen snow before,” Bellamy says, sounding amused.

She tilts her head back a little more so she can see him standing over her, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. “I’ve never really been able to enjoy it.”

His expression softens, understanding. And then he lowers to sit in the snow beside her, picking up some snow in his hands, gathering it and packing it into a ball. She watches lazily while he rolls it around in the snow around him and it gets steadily bigger. They don’t talk; it’s a comfortable silence as they wait.

She has a feeling he’s thinking too hard about something, though. She can tell from the way his brow is furrowed. With the intention of distracting him, she bolts up from her sitting position.

He jumps a little, startled, but relaxes when he sees she’s just mimicking him, making a snowball. But unlike him, she’s got a purpose for it. Feeling mischievous, she pelts it at him once she’s done. He flinches out of surprise as it explodes against his shoulder.

She grins at his surprise. “What do you think? Would snowballs make good weapons?”

He huffs, a smile curling at his lips. He tosses his own snowball between his hands as if mulling it over. “Not against Azgeda. Against you?” Without warning, he throws his much larger snowball at her face. She shrieks at the biting, wet cold, and falls back. She hears the smile in his voice as he says, “Lethal.”

“Jackass!” She can’t even feel her nose but when she brushes the snow away from her eyes and finds him grinning at her, the skin around his eyes crinkling, she finds she doesn’t care. She’d endure just about any kind of attack to see him smile like that. That being said…

She lunges at him, but he’s ready, standing up and backpedalling with a glint in his eyes. She follows, balling up another snowball in her hands. He’s doing the same, and they stand still, watching each other as they deliberate their next move.

Clarke’s gaze moves up, over his head, and she realizes he’s standing under a low-hanging branch. She reaches up and jolts the branch— the heavy snow at the end of it falls with a heavy _thwump_ sound on him.

He grunts in surprise, and she’s so busy laughing at the comical sight that she’s caught off guard when he tackles her into a snowdrift.

They both go tumbling and fall into the thick layer of snow, and the stuff collapses on top of them. She pokes her head out of the snow and shakes her head rapidly, feeling like a dog. Then she looks down. She’s straddling him, but his head is still under the snow. She grabs his collar and wrenches him out of it.

Bellamy comes up sputtering, and she giggles and mutters something unapologetic and unintelligible as she brushes snow off his hair and his cheeks.

“The hell, Clarke,” he complains, propping himself up on his hands as Clarke, now sitting in his lap, brushes more snow off his shoulders and the front of his jacket. “How did I end up on the bottom when I tackled _you_?”

“Can’t give away my secrets,” she teases, feeling light and happy, and pushes at his shoulders again for emphasis.

Still unsteady, one of his hands shoots forward to grasp her elbow to keep himself anchored upright. It’s then that Clarke really registers their position. She’s straddling him, his warmth radiating through her jacket, and her face so close to his she can see the beads of snow still clinging to his thick dark eyelashes. His lips are flushed and a little chapped.

She can’t think about anything in that moment, except about how much she’d like to kiss him, and how much his dark eyes are telling her he wants her to.

So she does, leaning in the short distance to his lips and pressing a kiss to them.

He freezes under her, his hand on her elbow completely still, his body rigid, his lips as cold as hers and unyielding. Clarke comes to her senses almost immediately, pulling back. Bellamy’s staring at her, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. She can’t get a read on his expression at all. All Clarke can do is stare back in horror at what she’s just done and scramble for an excuse, some way to salvage their friendship after she just kissed him.

But just as she opens her mouth, his hand on her elbow darts up to wrap around the back of her neck, dragging her back to his lips and then he’s kissing her back. It’s soft and brief, causing butterflies to erupt in her stomach. They part abruptly and make eye contact. She wonders if she looks as shocked as he does.

In unison, they lean in again without speaking. Then it changes. Suddenly, they’re kissing deeply, endlessly, and he’s taking advantage of her parted lips to entangle his tongue with hers. A little shocked at the turn of events, she finds herself melting into it and he actually— he actually _growls_ a little bit into her mouth. His other hand eventually settles on her hip, and he tilts his head— she puts her hand on his jaw, thrills in the feel of it working under hand as he kisses her like he’d like nothing better than to take her to bed right now.

In the distant part of her that’s not enjoying it, his ferocity surprises her. Mostly because Bellamy’s hardly ever given any indication that he finds her attractive at all. She’s never even been able to catch him looking at her cleavage, and, well, she _knows_ she’s got impressive cleavage. It’s part of why she’s always been uncertain to make a move. She’s never been entirely sure he was interested.

Unconsciously, she rocks against him, and she realizes just how wrong she was about that.

It’s like a dam has opened in him, and he’s not holding back at all in his kisses, and neither is she. She shifts position, rising up on her haunches above him, and he bites at her lip, lowers his head to start mouthing at her neck.

She clings to his shoulders like a lifeline, tilting her head back to grant him access. He’s unexpectedly sweet here, leaving gentle kisses down the column of her throat to her sternum, and she struggles to formulate words while she clings to his shoulders. Shouldn’t they talk about this, not fall right into making out after years of hesitance?

“Bellamy…”

His hand on the back of her neck guides her mouth back to his. “ _Clarke_ ,” he says, long and drawn out, and it’s a loving caress of her name but there’s also a teasing lilt under it. Before she can respond he kisses her again.

When they part for air again, Clarke gasps, “Maybe we should…” She trails off as his large hands slide up her back— god, they never stop moving. She’s being constantly disoriented in the best way and the thing about it is she never even knew he could _be_ like this.

“We should…?” he prompts, voice pitched deliciously low. Clarke changes her mind in an instant. Everything can wait one measly minute. She pushes on his chest and this time he lets her push him back into the snow.

She crawls over him. His hands are on her hips, eyes half-lidded. He’s breathing hard at the sight of her hovering over him, and feeling like nothing short of a goddess when he looks at her like that, she pushes her hair behind her ear and leans down to whisper, “We _should_ have been doing this a long time ago.”

But when she kisses him in the snow again, the glowing forest shining brightly around them, she decides it wouldn’t have been quite right until this exact moment in time.

His hand on her back urges her down with him, and they make out like that for a while in the snow, not going any further. Nonetheless, Clarke’s entire body buzzing with content and warmth when a sudden noise makes her jolt away.

Heart in her throat, she whips her head to the side, expecting to see what, she doesn’t know— and then realizing the beeping is from the Rover’s battery, signalling that it’s hit the quarter-charged mark. Bellamy sighs, realizing it at the same time, and his head falls back into the snow again.

Clarke can’t help but let out a nervous giggle, laying her head on his chest. “For a second I thought that was a grounder or something.”

“I wouldn’t put voyeurism past them,” Bellamy replies seriously, and she hits him on the shoulder before grasping his hand and helping him up with her. As much as she’d like to stay in this little pocket of time with him for longer, Jasper needs their help.

—

The drive back is mostly silent again, but it’s more comfortable, more thoughtful. Their focus is back on Jasper, on the mission; and as soon as they get back to camp, Bellamy’s barely cut the engine before she’s jumping out and heading to medical to make that tea.

She sits on a stool to wait as the water boils. The faintest rays of light are dawning over the horizon— she and Bellamy have been gone longer than she thought. Everyone’s probably asleep this early on Christmas morning. She’s used to not sleeping for long periods of time, but she can’t help but stifle a few yawns anyway.

Suddenly, a pair of hands are on her back, massaging her taut muscles, and she tilts her head forward, closing her eyes and sighing at the indescribably good feeling.

“Tired, huh,” Bellamy observes behind her.

She mutters something incoherent, becoming putty under his hands. Then those hands are gone— she lifts her head and sees that he’s checking the kettle.

“Looks like it’s ready,” he says. “I’ll get this to Jasper. You should go get some shut-eye.”

“You should rest, too,” she says, but he’s already gone out the door. Yawning again, she staggers up and locks up medical.

She makes an impulsive decision as she makes her way down the corridor she and Bellamy live down— she opens his door instead of her own and collapses on his bed. It smells like him, and she curls into the neatly made sheets like she’s done this a million times before.

She doesn’t think she falls asleep, but apparently she does, because next thing she knows the mattress bows down with the weight of another person sitting on it.

“Bellamy?” she murmurs, reaching out a hand blindly. He catches it with his.

“You know,” he says drily, “when I said get some shut-eye, I meant in your own bed.”

She hides her blush in his pillow. “I don’t know. I just thought…” she trails off.

“I’m joking,” he says gently, squeezing her hand.

“Is Jasper okay?” she asks.

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

He hesitates before his next words, she can feel it. “Do you… want to talk about what happened with us?”

Silence for a moment. She hears the uncertainty in his voice. This is uncharted territory for them.

But is it, really? Maybe it’s time to stop overthinking it, to stop hesitating when it feels so damn _right_. She flips over on the bed so she can look him in the eye. “I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of letting fear dictate everything I do. I want to give _us_ a try,” she begins tentatively, clutching his fingers tighter. “Do you?”

He stares down at her, with a softness to his lovely features that she probably doesn’t deserve.

“Screw fear,” he agrees. “Let’s tell our own damn story.”

She lets out a breath, reaching for him again, and he leans down and kisses her, soft and lingering. Clarke’s fingers get lost in his curly hair within moments, and his drift softly up her sides to grasp her around the waist. As the early morning light begins to stream more strongly through the window, he shifts to lay next to her, and they kiss lazily like that for a while, side by side. These kinds of kisses aren’t like back at the forest, the ones that set her blood on fire; no, these ones slow her heart rate down, the kind of kissing that’s just for the sake of kissing, for the sake of enjoying one another without the intention of taking another step forward.

A shout outside in the corridor takes her out of her private world with him, and she’s reminded that it’s Christmas morning.

Bellamy seems to read the conflict in her eyes and draws her closer, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. “We can sleep for a while before they come try to wake us up.”

She snuggles into his side, feeling absurdly joyful. Maybe she accidentally ingested some of Jasper’s wacked-out nuts herself. “And when they find us like this?”

He mulls it over for a second, and then: “I’ll have to endure a lot of Raven’s lover boy jokes, I’m sure.”

The knowledge that he’s okay with their relationship being public makes her glow a little, and she presses a kiss to his freckled cheek. “They say that kind of stuff because they care about us.” It’s a little annoying, but it’s still true. She knows half her friends have been waiting for her and Bellamy to get together for a long time.

“I know,” he replies. “And we go out into Grounder territory in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve because we care about _them_.” He shakes his head ruefully. “The Council— especially your mom and Kane— are gonna skin me alive when they find out I drove the Rover out without a permit.”

“And I’ll tell them the trip was _my_ idea,” Clarke reminds him with a frown. “And that I encouraged you. I won’t let anyone skin you alive.”

Bellamy smiles wryly. “Why, because it’s Christmas?”

“No.” She leans the miniscule distance to press her forehead against his. “Because it’s you.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Good lord, this is the fluffiest thing I’ve written in a while. (You know your show is too grimdark™ when writing the characters in any semblance of happiness feels vaguely OOC.) But I hope you enjoyed it anyway and will think about leaving me a comment because that would be a great present for your local hobbyist writer. ;)
> 
> In any case cheers, and happy December!
> 
> (wellsjahasghost on tumblr)


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